


mandarin oranges

by sweetpiquillo



Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: F/M, cigarettes are smoked, don't do nicotine kids, faye valentine masters the art of repression, mentions of julia/spike spiegel, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26263000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetpiquillo/pseuds/sweetpiquillo
Summary: faye stargazes with spike and deals with her feelings.
Relationships: Spike Spiegel/Faye Valentine
Comments: 15
Kudos: 46





	mandarin oranges

**Author's Note:**

> something short and (bitter)sweet. aka that one tumblr post that's like "you're never desperate for fic until you're staring down an empty word document" but it's me writing this in like an hour and a half because i needed to get it out of my system. 
> 
> enjoy!

They sneak up to the cockpit well after midnight, after Jet and Ed have settled into bed, and Faye feels a bit like a rebellious teenager, and she clings to that feeling, like it's possible to rebuild something that's been taken so completely from you.

She's climbing up while he looks behind them with a watchful eye - it's not like anything in the Bebop is off limits, exactly, but Jet's a bit overprotective about the Bebop's controls, and neither of them are in the mood for a lecture. The risk is worth it, because the control room has broad, clean windows and the best view from anywhere on the ship.

Faye's got one of Spike's old jackets wrapped around her, mandarin oranges that she snatched from the counter shoved deep into the pockets, and she tries not to show how fond she is of how the ends of the sleeves roll up perfectly, cushioning her wrists, and the warmth that it provides, draped around her body all the way down to her knees. She knows that it's a routine gesture from Spike, something that's just instinct at this point, and that it's a bit ridiculous that wearing his jacket is bringing out such a smile on her face, but it is, and she can't resist it, which is why she's deliberately looking in any direction but at Spike as she gently closes and latches the door behind them.

There's a faint, familiar, click and whoosh behind her, and she knows that he's lighting a cigarette. What surprises her is when she turns around, facial expression successfully scrubbed back to normal, is that he's holding the lit cigarette out to her, an unlit one in his other hand for himself.

She mutters thanks, reaches out to take the cigarette, cold fingers brushing against his warm ones for the briefest of moments, and -

Oh, she is _fucked_.

Of course, he doesn't notice, setting up the blankets and couch cushions he's snatched on the floor in front of the largest window.

He twists his neck, eyes sparkling at her. "Could you hit the lights?"

She obliges, and then the only light coming in, besides the faint glow of the monitors and controls, are the twinkling stars, and soon a warm orange illuminating Spike's face as he lights his own cigarette. He pats the blanket next to him, and Faye carefully crosses her legs as she sits, acutely aware of every millimeter that separates her bare legs from his knees and knowing that Spike is completely oblivious, already gazing off somewhere into deep space. Faye feels like a teenager again, but in a way that heats up shame in the back of her throat, and she lets the cigarette burn her fingers slightly, in an attempt to return back to reality.

Closing her eyes and letting out a breath, she grounds herself in the present, focusing on the roughnesss of the blanket under her hands and Spike's soft breathing. As she opens her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she can make out more and more stars in the distance, as well as the occasional passing starship, and is reminded of why she loves this rogue life, even with all of its challenges - the chance to fall asleep to a new view of the universe every single night. The newness of it all, the abundance - it feels like a way to make up for lost time, to pay back herself.

She wonders if her younger self was the same - did she love the stars, too? What did she dream of when she looked up at the night sky?

And the knowledge that she'll never know is overwhelming.

And it's so much, all the time, and her throat is growing tight, and she cannot, _will_ not cry in front of Spike -

It's so infuriating, because no matter how hard she tries to deny it, he unquestionably has seen the most of who she truly is - through the bounty hunter shell, through the femme fatale smoke and mirrors, into her twisted-up insides, the addiction and the anger, and the worst part is that she _lets_ him.

And because of this, she will not let him see her cry - that part is for her and her alone - she clutches the corners of her grief to herself, holds it close and wraps her arms around it, ties it tight around her limbs, because without it, who is she?

So she tucks her sadness in behind her heart and lets the starlight shine on other facet of her during these late-night conversations. She's willing to be so broadly vulnerable, because she knows that Spike will do the same - he never speaks as free as he does in the blanket of darkness and the privacy of just the two of them.

And in this freeness, Faye allows herself to indulge, just a bit. Because when Spike gets deep into a topic, he'll look off into the stars, mind consumed by what he's trying to convey, and he won't see Faye gazing at him, and the way that the stars illuminate his cheekbones and the way that his lips move and the way that her eyes lock onto his fingers as he gestures with a cigarette to accentuate a particular point. A small indulgence, only during these late night conversations, and it's like gasps of fresh air to her drowning heart, the moments when she can forget herself and lose her mind in the way that his hair curls around his ears and the soft vibrations of his voice through the air. She's careful to never let him catch her, averting her eyes when he turns to hear her response, and looking at her fingernails or the corner of the window or anywhere but his face when she talks. But sometimes she can feel his eyes on her and it feels like sunshine, like a locked away memory of morning sun coming in through a kitchen window, and it burns just the slightest bit.

She's hungry, pulling out an orange to peel and reveling in the sharp scent of citrus when her nail pierces its skin, when Spike starts talking about Mars. And when Spike talks about Mars, he almost always starts talking about Julia.

Faye has never seen Spike smile like when he talks about Julia. Not when they catch a bounty, not when there's hot food on the stove, not when he talks about his parents or old friends - it's only Julia. Only ever Julia. He'll look off into the distance, like he is now, fixated on some point in the distance that only he can see, and his entire demeanor will change despite himself, eyes crinkling and mouth turning up into a wistful smile. He's a man enamored, the light that sparks in his eyes an eternal flame for her, his dedication, love, and admiration plain in his expression like other emotions almost never are. It's as beautiful as the swirling, glittering galaxies they'll see on good nights, but it's also so damn _painful_.

Faye turns her eyes from his face to focus on her orange, placing the peel on her lap, letting the scent mingle with the cigarette smoke. She knows he's hungry - they ate an early dinner, so she splits the fruit in half, beginning to pick out the little white strings.

It's soulmate shit, the way that he talks about Julia with reverence and affection, and if Faye were a better person it would make her believe in true love. She doesn't know the details - he's not the type to overshare - but it's obvious that Julia is always in the back of his mind, bleeding into anything and everything else that mentioning a memory of her, or a passion of hers, or something he loves about her, is natural, instinct, a necessary detail to make the listener understand whatever topic he's talking about.

"...it's like -"

Spike gestures one hand towards the stars, searching for the words. Faye can see a small birthmark where the bone of his thumb connects to his wrist.

"Have you ever felt so in sync with someone that you didn't even need words to communicate? Like you were in tune on a deeper level than anyone else?"

He turns to face Faye abruptly, unexpectedly, and for the first time she's caught off guard, forced to look at him in his eyes, and she thinks -

She thinks of a quiet morning a few weeks ago, when they were the first ones up and making meager breakfasts. The way that even half-asleep, they deftly maneuvered around each other, as Faye made her coffee and Spike scrambled eggs, passing the butter and milk from the fridge and between each other without even needing to ask or look, and how she made a cup for him and he made a plate for her without even thinking, and how the only time she spoke for the entirety of breakfast was to make fun of Spike for spilling coffee on his sweater.

She thinks of the countless times that they've saved each other's asses on the chase - story-defying shit like near-misses with bullets and grenades, how they can communicate on the turn of a second with a single glance, how they function as a perfect team when dogfighting in their ships, and the way that they bandage each other up after every single hunt, collapsing into exhaustion and dreamless sleep together.

She thinks of nights like these, where she didn't even need to talk to him about coming up to watch the stars, how they just had the same thought on the same night, and she thinks about his jacket wrapped around her shoulders and his cigarette burning down to her fingertips and she knows that she cannot answer his question truthfully because it will completely break them apart.

And Faye has already lost enough in her life.

So, she takes a steadying breath, brings her shoulders up in a practiced shrug, focuses her eyes on Jupiter in the distance, and says "No, not really."

She takes both halves of the orange, now completely peeled, and places them in Spike's hand, taking care not to touch his skin.

The stars shine, reflected in his eyes.

~  
  


_”I’ll call you, and we’ll light a fire, and drink some wine, and recognise each other in the place that is ours. Don’t wait. Don’t tell the story later._

_Life is so short. This stretch of sea and sand, this walk on the shore, before the tide covers everything we have done._

_I love you._

_The three most difficult words in the world._

_But what else can I say?”_

\- Jeanette Winterson, _Lighthousekeeping_

**Author's Note:**

> i love pain, don't you?
> 
> please give your feedback in the comments, i always really appreciate it!
> 
> (also, check out my [faye spotify playlist,](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5AasGJ38lxj1GaCVo1Y0Tn?si=bNqvvO0HTzqk8SGLQe5CMg) if you'd like?)


End file.
